The Mark of Zorro

Again the sheet of rain beat against the roof of red Spanish tile, and the wind shrieked like a soul in torment, and smoke puffed from the big fireplace as the sparks were showered over the hard dirt floor.

“ ’Tis a night for evil deeds!” declared Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, stretching his great feet in their loose boots toward the roaring fire and grasping the hilt of his sword in one hand and a mug filled with thin wine in the other. “Devils howl in the wind and demons are in the raindrops! ’Tis an evil night, indeed⁠—eh, señor?”

“It is!” the fat landlord agreed hastily; and he made haste, also, to fill the wine mug again, for Sergeant Pedro Gonzales had a temper that was terrible when aroused, as it always was when wine was not forthcoming.

“An evil night!” the big sergeant repeated, and drained the mug without stopping to draw breath, a feat that had attracted considerable attention in its time and had gained the sergeant a certain amount of notoriety up and down El Camino Real, as they called the highway that connected the missions in one long chain.

Gonzales sprawled closer to the fire, and cared not that other men thus were robbed of some of its warmth. Sergeant Pedro Gonzales often had expressed his belief that a man should look out for his own comfort before considering others; and being of great size and strength, and having much skill with the blade, he found few who had the courage to declare that they believed otherwise.

The native hurried forward to fasten the door against the force of the wind, and then retreated to his corner again. The newcomer had his back toward those in the long room. They could see that his sombrero was pulled far down on his head, as if to prevent the wind from whisking it away, and that his body was enveloped in a long cloak that was wringing wet.

With his back still toward them, he opened the cloak and shook the raindrops from it, and then folded it across his breast again as the fat landlord hurried forward, rubbing his hands together in expectation, for he deemed that here was some caballero off the highway who would pay good coin for food and bed and care for his horse.

When the landlord was within a few feet of him and the door the stranger whirled around. The landlord gave a little cry of fear and retreated with speed. The corporal gurgled deep down in his throat; the soldiers gasped; Sergeant Pedro Gonzales allowed his lower jaw to drop and let his eyes bulge.

For the man who stood straight before them had a black mask over his face that effectually concealed his features, and through the two slits in it his eyes glittered ominously.

“Ha! What have we here?” Gonzales gasped, finally, some presence of mind returning to him.

The man before them bowed.

“Señor Zorro, at your service!” he said.

“By the saints! Señor Zorro, eh?” Gonzales cried.

And suddenly she was awakened by a touch on her arm, and sat up quickly, and then would have screamed except that a hand was crushed against her lips to prevent her.

Before her stood a man whose body was enveloped in a long cloak, and whose face was covered with a black mask so that she could see nothing of his features except his glittering eyes. She had heard Señor Zorro, the highwayman, described, and she guessed that this was he, and her heart almost ceased to beat, she was so afraid.

“Silence, and no harm comes to you, señorita,” the man whispered hoarsely.

“You⁠—you are⁠—” she questioned on her breath.

He stepped back, removed his sombrero, and bowed low before her.

“You have guessed it, my charming señorita,” he said. “I am known as Señor Zorro, the Curse of Capistrano.”

“And⁠—you are here⁠—”

“I mean you no harm, no harm to any of this hacienda, señorita. I punish those who are unjust, and your father is not that. I admire him greatly. Rather would I punish those who do him evil than to touch him.”

“I⁠—I thank you, señor.”

“I am weary, and the hacienda is an excellent place to rest,” he said. “I knew it to be the siesta hour, also, and thought everyone would be asleep. It were a shame to awaken you, señorita, but I felt that I must speak. Your beauty would hinge a man’s tongue in its middle so that both ends might be free to sing your praises.”

They made a turning, and found a horseman confronting them, sitting easily in the saddle, with his horse standing across the road in such manner that they could not pass.

“Turn your horse⁠—turn your beast!” the dealer in hides and tallow cried. “Would you have me drive over you?”

The assistant gave an exclamation that was part of fear, and the dealer looked more closely at the horseman. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged.

“ ’Tis Señor Zorro!” he exclaimed. “By the saints! ’tis the Curse of Capistrano, away down here near San Gabriel. You would not bother me, Señor Zorro? I am a poor man, and have no money. Only yesterday a fray swindled me, and I have been to Reina de Los Angeles seeking justice.”

“Did you get it?” Señor Zorro asked.

“The magistrado was kind, señor. He ordered the fray to repay me, but I do not know when I shall get the money.”

“Get out of the carreta, and your assistant also!” Señor Zorro commanded.

“But I have no money⁠—” the dealer protested.

“Out of the carreta with you! Do I have to request it twice? Move, or lead finds a lodging place in your carcass!”

Now the dealer saw that the highwayman held a pistol in his hand, and he squealed with sudden fright and got out of the cart as speedily as possible, his assistant tumbling out at his heels. They stood in the dusty highway before Señor Zorro, trembling with fear, the dealer begging for mercy.

The song ceased; the laughter was stilled. They blinked their eyes and looked across the room. Señor Zorro stood just inside the door, having entered from the veranda without them knowing it. He wore his long cloak and his mask, and in one hand he held his accursed pistol, and its muzzle was pointed at the table.

“So these are the manner of men who pursue Señor Zorro and hope to take him!” he said. “Make not a move, else lead flies! Your weapons, I perceive, are in the corner. I could kill some of you and be gone before you could reach them!”

“ ’Tis he! ’Tis he!” a tipsy caballero was crying.

“Your noise may be heard a mile away, señores! What a posse to go pursuing a man! Is this the way you attend to duty? Why have you stopped to make merry while Señor Zorro rides the highway?”

“Give me my blade and let me stand before him!” one cried.

“If I allowed you to have blade, you would be unable to stand!” the highwayman answered. “Think you there is one in this company who could fence with me now?”

“There is one!” cried Don Alejandro, in a loud voice, springing to his feet. “I openly say that I have admired some of the things you have done, señor; but now you have entered my house and are abusing my guests, and I must call you to account!”